


Oboroten

by Lightshade



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightshade/pseuds/Lightshade
Summary: Illya has a secret. Napoleon is determined to find out what it is. The truth is a lot furrier than he thought it would be.





	

In hindsight, Napoleon realized that there had been more than enough clues to put together what was going on. Illya always took three days off each month like clockwork. Attempts to get ahold of him during this time were fruitless. He'd reappear on the fourth day, dark circles under his eyes, and moving as if he were in pain. Any questions on where he had been were met with steely glares and silence.

It didn't concern Napoleon up until it became apparent that whatever his partner was doing was affecting his well-being. Illya had shown up on the fourth day, as was his custom, looking worse for the wear. He looked exhausted, there was a long scratch mark going down from the back of his left ear down his neck, and he could barely keep his eyes open during the briefing they were given on their latest mission. Indeed, when Napoleon turned to ask his partner a question, he found Illya was fast asleep, his chin tucked onto his chest, and his breathing slow and easy.

He gave the Russian spy a hard nudge that sent him startling awake with a snort and blink. Napoleon looked him over. "You want to tell me what's going on?" Illya remained stubbornly silent. "Look, I don't care what you're doing in your spare time, but I have to know you can do your job with compromising either of us."

That finally got a response out of him as Illya glared at his partner. His thick Russian accent colored his words. "You don't have to worry about me, Cowboy. I will get the job done."

"So are you going to tell me what you were doing last night?" Napoleon persisted.

Ilya pursed his lips and abruptly got up, leaving the other spy there at the table. Truly, it was none of Napoleon's business. But that didn't mean he was going to let the matter go.

Over the next month, he watched Illya closely. There was no real changes in his partner's routine. They went on several missions, each of them a success. Together, they made up a well-oiled machine, Napoleon being able to outthink anyone and Illya being able to take down anyone who got in their way. It was only in the few days leading up to that mysterious three-day period that he always took off every month that Solo noticed a difference. Illya, never one for prolonged conversation, became even more laconic, almost downright sullen. There was a heightened level of energy around him, reminding Napoleon of the moments just before the psychotic episodes would overtake him. He seemed a little more aggressive during these periods, something that only someone who knew him as well as his partner did would notice. He wasn't sure what could be causing the changes. Was he on drugs? Gambling? Was it a woman (or man)?

Sure enough, when Napoleon tried to make a pretext for taking Illya out for dinner the next night, the man brushed him off gruffly. More puzzling was the brief look that flashed across his face. If Napoleon hadn't known better, he would have said that it looked like panic. But Illya never panicked.

Determined to figure out this mystery, Napoleon had driven out to Illya's house that night. He'd never given much thought to where his partner spent his off-hours and was surprised that the address he'd found in his file led to a large, two-story house at the end of a winding road that wasn't even paved. It was set back against the edge of the woods and the nearest neighbor had to be more than a mile off. As he got out of the car, he could see the moon glinting off a small lake nearby. It made for a pretty picture. The soothing sight was a great contrast to the gruff personality he thought of Illya as having.

The door was, predictably, locked. Napoleon got it open in forty-five seconds and made a mental note to tell his partner that he clearly needed stronger locks. The house had lights on, but there didn't seem to be any sign of Illya in the house. The furniture was a typical collection of sturdy, practical affairs that a bachelor would prefer.

There was no personal touches save for three pictures adorning the fireplace mantelpiece. The first was a black and white photo showing a man and woman Napoleon surmised had to be his parents and a small child between them that had to be Illya. There was a strong resemblance between Illya and his father, mostly the strong lines of his nose and jaw. The second picture was also black and white, this one showing a teenage Illya towering over his mother, looking decidedly uncomfortable in formal clothes. The third was the only one in color, a candid shot of Illya, Gaby, and Napoleon taken in Rome just after they had been recruited for U.N.C.L.E. Gaby and Napoleon were laughing at something someone had said and there was a twist of Illya's mouth that suggested he was close to laughing too. Napoleon felt touched that the other man thought highly enough of his friends to put them in the same place of honor as his family.

Then he heard a loud slamming sound followed by a harsh scratching. He immediately pulled out his gun and looked around. It appeared to be coming from a room at the end of the hallway. "Illya?" Napoleon called out. There was no sign that his partner was in the house, but he felt it was prudent to try. The sound happened again and the door frame shuddered. Someone or something was trying to get out. He cautiously made his way down the hall, looking through each room to make sure he wasn't about to ambushed. When he got to the end, he listened for a moment at the door. There was a wet, snuffling sort of sound coming from the other side, more like an animal than a human being.

One hand curled around the doorknob and flung the door wide open. Before he could register much more than a room with no furniture and scratch marks on the wall, a giant furry shape came barreling at him. It slammed into him and knocked him to the floor. Snarling, it tried to snap and bite at Napoleon's exposed throat. Though panicked, he had the presence of mind to keep a hold of his gun. Pressing it blindly against the hulking mass, he squeezed the trigger. With a pained yelp, the beast rolled off of him.

Napoleon scuttled back on all fours, trying to put some distance between himself and the...well, it was far too big to be a normal dog. Was it a wolf? He soon discovered it couldn't follow him even if it wanted to. A thick leather collar was fit snugly around its neck, attached to a long chain that was bolted securely into the wall. It appeared to be at the very limit of the chain, unable to get past the door. It was a massive beast, far larger than any wolf Napoleon had ever seen in a book or at a zoo.

Its sandy, gold coat was thick and speckled currently with a little bit of blood. The bullet had gone straight through its shoulder and into the wall behind it, leaving a nasty looking wound. As Napoleon watched in amazement, the bleeding stopped and the bullet wound began to close up of its own volition. The wolf got back on its paws and glared at Napoleon with a pair of unusual-looking blue eyes, snarling softly. It didn't seem in any hurry to attack Napoleon again, though that was probably because he still had his gun in his hand.

What the hell was Illya doing keeping a vicious wolf in his house? That thing could have killed him! And it had healed up as if by magic. Napoleon wasn't a stupid man and the pieces were all there in front of him. He just had to put them together. A giant wolf, bigger than a man, with coloration that exactly matched Illya's, and an ability to heal from being shot in under a minute. Illya was gone for three days every month, always around the full moon, and reappeared looking exhausted. It was impossible. But there was only one logical conclusion staring him in the face. Illya Kuryakin was a werewolf.

As if to confirm this, he called out, "Illya?" The wolf stopped snarling and cocked his head, looking Napoleon up and down like he had recognized the name. Napoleon took a step towards him and the wolf backed up, immediately letting out a warning growl. He followed the gaze of the animal and realized he was staring at the gun still in his hand. "Ah. Right." Napoleon set the gun on the floor. The wolf gave him a familiar withering stare that left no doubt in his mind that this was definitely his partner. He ducked his furry muzzle down towards where the gun was still within easy grasping distance. Solo sighed. Even as a wolf, he still had his peculiarities. "Alright." Napoleon took the gun down the hallway and set it on an end table.

He returned to find Illya staring at him with those animal eyes, suspicious, wary, but with something else within them that Napoleon couldn't figure out. He took a step towards the wolf. The creature remained where he was, stiff-legged, but no longer looking ready to attack. The American spy crouched down, just at the very edge of the doorway. Slowly, he raised a hand. Illya flinched and backed away. "Easy, Peril. I'm not going to hurt you. Easy now." Napoleon kept up the slow, steady stream of words, trying to keep the wolf calm. "It's alright. You're okay." He leaned forward, thinking about how if he got his hand bitten off, it would serve him right. He waited with the same patience he would use on a long stakeout, neither moving forward or retreating back. 

Finally, just when Napoleon was about to give it up as a lost endeavor, the wolf took one, two, three steps forward. His muzzle sniffed at Napoleon's hand and gave a tentative lick. When nothing bad happened, he leaned his whole massive head into Napoleon's hand.

Napoleon, for his part, had never been this close to a wild animal before in his entire life. He wasn't sure what to do, but memories of childhood and the big, dopey Labrador named Homer he'd had gave him the willingness to run his hands over Illya's head. "That wasn't so hard," he said, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking to the wolf or himself. Illya responded by pushing so hard against Napoleon with his big, furry body that he nearly knocked him down.

He ran his hand down Illya's head again, but when he brushed the thick leather collar, the wolf stiffened up again. It seemed almost painfully tight to Napoleon, designed to keep Illya from being able to break loose. The wolf cocked his head and looked at his human, blinking and lifting his head up, as if to show off the hated contraption he found himself in. "You want it off?" The wolf nodded in slow, clear understanding. "Well, I guess if you haven't eaten me by now, you're not going to." He took the leather collar in his hands and unbuckled it, letting it fall to the floor.

The wolf shook himself from head to toe for a moment as if he couldn't believe that he was free. Then with a leap, he pounced on Napoleon, knocking him to the floor. Stunned and with the breath driven out of him, he cursed himself for a fool, and prepared to be torn apart. Instead, he found his face being furiously licked over and over again, the wolf's tail wagging in gratitude. Finally, covered in hot, meat-smelling breath and spittle, the wolf jumped off him and ran down the hall. Solo stood up, massaging his now-sore back.

He figured Illya couldn't get too far. After all, the house was locked up. Then he heard an almighty crash and his heart sunk. As he rounded the corner, he saw that the back screen door, while locked, now had a nice Illya-wolf shaped hole in the middle of it. "Dammit, Peril," Napoleon muttered, heading out into the night. There wasn't much of a backyard, not even a fence to separate the trees and bushes of the woods from the few feet of grass. Illya was long gone. Fortunately, the moon was bright, and there was a clear path of flattened shrubbery to follow.

Napoleon, for all his many charming qualities, was not an outdoorsman. His idea of a good time was sitting on a yacht somewhere in a white suit with a martini glass in one hand, not playing Davey Crockett out in the middle of a forest. He had no idea of how camping, hunting, or tracking were supposed to work. A compass was a foreign object to him. Still, he couldn't leave Illya out in the woods all night. He'd watched enough werewolf movies as a child to know that nothing good ever came from letting the wolf wander free where the was even the remotest chance he might run into another person. He had to track the wolf down and drag him back to the house before something terrible happened.

He followed the trail of squashed vegetation and giant wolf paw prints into the woods until he was sure that even if he found Illya, there was no way they'd be able to find their way back to the house. He was well and truly lost now without so much as a flashlight to help guide him. Just as he was about to give up, he heard a distinct munching sound coming from straight ahead. He followed the sounds into a clearing. There was the wolf, steadily eating the carcass of a rabbit. Judging by the bloody, broken pile of bones next to him, this wasn't the first one.

"Alright, you've had your fun. Let's go." Illya looked up just long enough to give him a look that Napoleon could only describe as scornful before he went back to eating. "I'm serious, partner. You're coming back with me if I have to drag you all the way back." The idea crossed his mind that he didn't have so much as a rope to wrap around the wolf's neck. How he was supposed to get a beast that weighed about a third more than he did back to the house was a mystery.

Illya solved the problem by finishing off the rabbit with a loud cracking sound as he snapped the bones. He licked the blood off his chops and trotted over to Napoleon. He bounced back a few feet and then forward again, trying to induce the spy to follow him. "No. I'm not going wherever it is you want me to go." Illya snorted and picked up a large stick, bringing it over and dropping it at Napoleon's feet. The man's eyebrows slowly raised up. "You're not serious." Illya crouched down on his front legs with his rump up in the air, showing indeed that he was dead serious about wanting to play.

Napoleon sighed and picked up the stick. "Fine then. Go on!" He threw it out of the clearing and back into the darkness of the woods. Illya charged after it. Napoleon ran a hand down his face. This was going to be a long night.

Indeed, it was one of the longest nights that Napoleon Solo could ever remember. Every time he thought they were done tramping around the woods, Illya found something new and bounded off into the woods, leaving his beleaguered friend to follow after. He hunted down all manner of small animals, eating them with gusto. Napoleon could only surmise being a werewolf burned a lot of calories. He also showed quite the playful side, wanting Napoleon to engage in all sorts of games with him.

Finally, just when Napoleon despaired of the night ever ending, he followed Illya out of a clearing, and right back into his backyard. The wolf seemed less energetic now, his tail drooping a little as the moon began to set. Napoleon followed him into the house, locking the glass door behind the still-broken screen door. He followed the wolf upstairs to what had to be Illya's bedroom. His clothes had been folded up neatly and put on the foot of the bed. Clearly, he'd already been shifting into a werewolf for quite some time.

Napoleon stifled a yawn. His own suit was currently ruined and had no hope of ever being used again. It was torn, covered in mud, water, and had leaves sticking to it in the most random spots. His Italian-leather shoes were likewise a lost cause. In all fairness, when he had come over that night, he hadn't been expecting to be wandering around the woods for hours on end.

He stripped his clothes off, leaving him only in black underwear. A great weariness had settled over him and he sat down on the bed. Well, Illya had gotten him into this mess. Surely, he couldn't begrudge him a few hours of rest. He laid down on the bed and his eyes began to shut. Suddenly, he felt a large weight jump and land on the bed. His eyes were forced back open as the large, furry wolf settled down right on top of him. This was where Napoleon drew the line. "Illya," he said, trying to push the animal off. There was no response. _"Illya,"_ he hissed again, futilely trying to move the giant lump. There was no response but the gentle breathing of the wolf as it began to drift off to sleep. The spy had definitely lost this battle. With a sigh, he gave up, leaned over, and turned out the light. At least the wolf was warm. Aside from the heaviness, it was just like being covered by a thick blanket. Napoleon closed his eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep within five minutes.

He awoke several hours later as he felt the wolf's body tense up. Judging by the dim, grey light filtering in through the windows, it was close to morning. Before he could fully come awake and process what was going on, he heard the crackling of bones and snapping sounds of tendons being shortened. By the time he looked down, he no longer had a large wolf lying on top of him, but the naked form of Illya Kuryakin. Illya was barely awake and already drifting off back to sleep.

Napoleon thought it might be a good time to leave, before any awkward questions could arise as to what he was doing lying in bed with his partner when there was only the thinnest layer of clothing between the two of them. As he tried to get up, Illya wrapped his large hands around his waist, and pushed him back down. He murmured sleepily, face pressed into Napoleon's neck, _"Net. Net. Ostavaysya."_ Then he fell completely back to sleep. Napoleon considered trying to get up again. But he considered Illya's words. _No. No. Stay._ He'd asked him to. So Napoleon would. He relaxed, one hand moving unconsciously to cover the ones wrapped around his waist, and fell back into a deep sleep.

When he woke up again and rolled over to glance at the clock, it was just past noon. He was also alone. He would've thought the whole thing had been a dream, but there was golden fur on top of the sheets and dried muddy paw prints on the floor. From off to the left, he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. He wondered if he could slip out of the house like the ending to some bizarre one-night stand, but Solo had some questions for his partner that needed answering. He relaxed, lay back against the pillows, and tried to process what had happened to him the night before.

Illya was a werewolf. That much he knew. As to the what and how of the matter, that still needed to be explained. As he lay there puzzling over the matter, the shower stopped running. A few minutes later, Illya came out wearing only a large white towel around his waist. With a few water droplets making their way down his neck from his dark blonde hair and his well-muscled body on display, he looked good. Good enough to eat by Napoleon's standards. The dark-haired man licked his lips as Illya looked him over. He became conscious of the fact he was still lying in bed wearing nothing more than his underwear.

Illya was the first one to break the silence. "You're still here," he said, sounding a bit relieved by that fact.

"Where else would I be?" Napoleon asked, his usual flippant smile making its way across his face.

"Thought you might have left. After...last night," Illya said, looking uncomfortable. Napoleon took note of how tired his partner looked, dark circles under his eyes and scratch marks all along his feet.

"What do you remember?" Napoleon asked.

"Hard to tell. It's all scents, sounds, and instinct, mostly," Illya said. "Did I..." There was clear hesitation in finishing his words "...did I hurt anyone?"

The idea of the giant animal who had wanted to play fetch the night before hurting anyone seemed laughable, but Illya looked so worried that Napoleon gave him an honest answer. "You killed and ate some animals, but that was it. The bunny rabbit population might never be the same."

The Russian spy looked relieved. "Did I hurt you?" He pressed on.

"No. I mean, you tackled me and tried to bite me when I first came in--" Illya looked so disheartened by this statement that Napoleon was quick to add on "--But then I shot you, so I think it all evened out."

"I do remember that," Illya said. He frowned. "What were you thinking, coming over here unannounced like that? You startled me."

"I wanted to know what you were keeping from me. Never thought it would be a secret like this," Napoleon replied. "Does anyone else know?"

Illya rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, a gesture that made him look endearingly boyish. "Not in U.N.C.L.E. I was hoping no one would ever find out."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise." Napoleon reassured Illya. "Besides, who would believe me?" The Russian still looked perturbed and the phrasing that he had used made the dark-haired man think. "Someone's found out about you before, haven't they?"

Illya nodded slowly, eyes downcast. "The KGB, they knew. They used me to do terrible things. Chain me up every month and send in whoever they wanted taken care of. If I didn't obey, they knew how to punish my other half. They made me into a monster."

Napoleon felt a deep pang of sympathy for his partner. After being traumatized like that, no wonder he'd been so secretive, willing to lock himself away rather than dare to be himself. He stood up, walking over to where Illya was standing. The Russian looked at him with wary eyes and Napoleon was strongly reminded of how he had looked the night before as a wolf, all stiff-legged and with what he now realized had been fear in his eyes. He had been afraid of losing control. Just as before, he reached out a hand, wrapping it around the back of Illya's neck. "You're not a monster, Illya. You had a dozen chances last night to kill me and you didn't. I think you're a good man."

Illya's pupils dilated and his breathing quickened. "How do you know what I am?"

Once again, Napoleon was made acutely aware of the fact they were wearing very little in the way of clothing. "I just do."

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke. Then the two of them were kissing hungrily, Illya biting at Napoleon's lower lip. The towel slipped off his hips and onto the floor. He hooked his thumbs onto the waistband of Napoleon's briefs and pulled them off. With werewolf-endowed strength, he almost heaved the other man right off the floor and slammed him down onto the bed. Then it was easy to give into animal instincts, letting his inner wolf take over.

Later on, satiated and lying next to Napoleon in a state close to bliss, Illya looked over to find the other man had taken out a lighter and pack of cigarettes. He put two in his mouth, lighting both, and then offering one to Illya. He took it without a word, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhaled. For once in his life, Napoleon appeared to be completely speechless. That had to be a first for the spy.

Illya turned over to look at the man he'd just slept with. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, the smoke curling lazily into the air "Got to say, Cowboy, for being human, you sure fuck like a werewolf."

That got Napoleon to grin, a genuine one instead of the charming, empty smiles he used so often when he was missions. "Yeah and now I have the bite marks to prove it." Illya looked at the marks left on Napoelon's shoulders and grinned back, leaning over and running his tongue over them to soothe the irritated skin. That got Napoleon to run his hands over the hard muscles that made up Illya's chest. Pretty soon, they were back to kissing, this time a little slower and less fervent in their desire for one another.

Just as they were about to make another go of it, the phone on the bedside table rang. Napoleon was closer to it, so he reluctantly let his hand leave Illya's back and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Napoleon? Is that you?" Gaby asked. He sat up a little straighter when he heard the woman's voice. 

He thought about lying, but what was the point? She'd already heard him answer. "Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing at Illya's house?" she questioned.

Napoleon sat up a little straighter as he thought of a suitable lie. Illya was watching him, mouthing the words 'Who is it?' to him.

"Gaby," he said, putting his hand over the bottom of the receiver before answering her. "He was looking a little under the weather last night, so I thought I'd see if he was alright. Looks like he caught a case of the stomach flu."

"Oof. That's got to be rough," she said, clucking her tongue sympathetically. "I was just calling to see where he was."

"Yeah. He should be fine in a few days, but I'm going to be staying over here till he feels better," Napoleon told her.

"Good to know. I'll let Waverly know. Put Illya on, will you?"

Napoleon passed the phone over, relaxing as he curled up against Illya's side. Illya and Gaby had a brief conversation, most of it murmured tones too low for Napoleon to make out. When he was done, he hung the phone back up.

"Thank you for lying," Illya said, running a hand through Napoleon's dark, now mussed locks.

"See, it helps having someone who knows your secret. I'm just surprised I didn't figure it out before," the American spy said, leaning into the soothing touch.

"What do you mean?" Illya asked.

"Well, the first time we met you tore the bumper off my car. Nobody completely human could have done that. I've also seen you throw a motorcycle at someone. And then there's your rage episodes. I was thinking that it was something going on in your head, but that's not it, is it? It's the wolf coming out at moments like that." Napoleon closed his eyes, the rhythmic movement of Illya's hand threatening to put him to sleep.

"Very astute, Cowboy. I'll explain more to you later, but you have the basics down. You're just lucky both sides of me happen to like you."

Napoleon opened his blue eyes back up, staring into Illya's. He'd known the wolf enjoyed his company. He had to, the way he'd been forcing him to play with him all night. But knowing the human half wanted to be with him to was a bit of a surprise. It was a welcome one though. "You do?"

Illya ducked his head down, biting lightly on the shell of Napoleon's ear. "Very much so."

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like I just had to write this after seeing the movie. Between his random rage moments and unnatural strength, Illya makes for the perfect werewolf. If I get inspired, I might turn this into a series, but we'll see how things go. Also, for those still waiting on the final chapter of Share and Share Alike, it IS coming. Some personal stuff in life came up that led to major writer's block, but I am gonna finish it, come hell or high water.


End file.
